


Sharing The News

by springsdandelion (writergirlie)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirlie/pseuds/springsdandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss shares the news of her engagement with the important people in her life. (A sequel to "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/385817">Growing Back Together</a>")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing The News

I.

 

I can tell she’s not expecting the call. The phone rings a total of four times before she picks up—the first few seconds of her recorded voice message are already starting to stream into my earpiece when there’s a click and her real voice comes on, tentative and sounding very little like the recorded version.

 

“Mom?”

 

There’s a shaky breath on the other end, almost like a gasp, but warbled—as if she’s trying to cover up her surprise at hearing my voice. Though we’ve come a long way in mending the fractures between us, we still don’t talk often, and our conversations are awkward and filled with long, uncomfortable pauses. Gaps that I would dearly love to fill, if only I knew what to fill them with.

 

“Katniss…”

 

“Hi.”

 

“You just got home?”

 

“Last night.”

 

In the silence that follows, guilt knifes at me. I feel as though I owe her some sort of explanation for taking off without a word. I don’t know if she’s expecting an apology, but I give her one anyway.

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye before we left,” I say. “Our train was so early and I knew you had to work a double shift at the hospital… I told Peeta we shouldn’t wake you-”

 

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t have minded,” she says. “But I’m glad you made it home safely. And… I’m glad you called.”

 

I wonder if she’s clutching the receiver to herself right now. Cradling it, as if she’s cradling my face. The image gives me a strange pang of homesickness. An odd feeling, since I’m already home.

 

She’s the one who isn’t.

 

“I have some news.”

 

Silence again. I hear an intake of air, a slight rustling. “Is everything all right?”

 

There’s panic in her voice—ever so subtle, but I pick up on it anyway. I can’t blame her for asking the question. After everything that’s happened, after everyone we’ve lost, it’s instinct now. A visceral reaction that comes from deep within our bones.

 

“Peeta and I are getting married.”

 

I hear the relief in her voice when she responds, the unmistakable waver that tells me tears have just sprung to her eyes, and I practically feel the smile in her words.

 

“Oh, Katniss… that’s wonderful. That’s the best news. I’m so happy that you found your way back to each other.” A pause, then, “Will you tell him congratulations for me?”

 

“Actually, I was… hoping you’d get to tell him yourself.”

 

I take a deep breath and claw around my brain for the carefully rehearsed speech I’d practiced over and over before I ever picked up the receiver. Somewhere on their way to my vocal chords, though, the words get tangled and lost, and I’m left on my own, wishing, not for the first time, that I had just an ounce of Peeta’s gift for saying the right thing.

 

“Will you come?”

 

I’m expecting her to say no. That it’s too hard, it’s too painful. That there are way too many ghosts that she simply can’t bring herself to face here. I’ve been steeling myself for her answer ever since I started to formulate the question, ever since I let myself open up that door in the tiniest of cracks, knowing full well I was taking a chance that it could very well get slammed in my face.

 

But instead she asks the question I least expect.

 

“Do you want me to?”

 

“Yes. I’d… really like that.” I hesitate before saying what comes next, because it’s been so long since I asked my mother for something. And this— _this_ , I want more than anything. “Please.”

 

She’s quiet for such a long time that what little hope I had to begin with starts to drain, leaking out of me, like blood trickling out from a paper cut. A thin, fine slice, but with a sting like no other.

 

I tell myself, it’s all right. I managed on my own for so long that I’m used to it. And now, I’ve got Peeta with me. In the end, he’s all I really need.

 

“Of course. Of course I’ll be there.”

 

My breath hitches, brain fumbling for a reply that could possibly capture in words the sheer depth of what I’m feeling right now. _Thank you_ feels woefully inadequate.

 

“I’m glad you have Peeta,” she says softly. “All this time… I’m glad he’s been there for you, when… I couldn’t be.”

 

“Mom-”

 

“I’m sorry, Katniss. I really am. That I couldn’t be there for you or be the kind of mother you needed… But I will be now. I promise.”

 

I nod, even though she can’t see me. This time, I’m the one to clutch the phone.

 

And we both cry.

 

 

II.

 

“Don’t you usually come bearing squirrels?”

 

“You know, most people would just say thank you.”

 

Haymitch breaks into a grin, then raises his glass at me. The light amber liquid swishes inside, unobstructed by ice cubes. God forbid anything should water down his drink. At least he’s downing the milder stuff this morning, not that wretched white liquor that turns him into a walking fire hazard every time he exhales. Of course, it’s early yet.

 

“I’m not like most people, sweetheart.”

 

“Yeah, I’d worked that out for myself.” I toss the loaf of bread onto the table and go to fetch some plates. “Anyway, I’m sorry to disappoint you. But hey, at least it’s fresh out of the oven.”

 

“The boy usually slices it for me.”

 

I’m already halfway to the drawer to pull out a knife when he says this. I’m tempted to wave it at him, just to prove a point, but I decide to let it go and start cutting into the bread without another word. Besides, this is what we do. It’s how we express affection for each other.

 

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?” He reaches over to pluck a slice off the plate, dunks it into the drink, then pops it in his mouth. “The boy needed a break from me today or something?”

 

“You act like he’s the only one who ever comes here.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at the strong stench of alcohol on his breath. I think I may have 20, 30 minutes tops before he goes past the point of no return and he’s not quite so lucid anymore. I’d better make this quick. “I wanted to come see you, all right? And don’t look so suspicious.”

 

He laughs and sets the drink down, then leans back against his chair and threads his fingers together, resting them on his belly. “This should be good, then,” he says. “Got something to tell me, by chance?”

 

There’s something odd in his smile. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, though he seems to be making an admirable attempt at a straight face. Then, in the next moment, it clicks for me.

 

“Peeta already told you.”

 

As if to confirm it, he nods.

 

“He told me he was going to ask you,” he says. “But there was no telling what your answer was going to be, so I was holding off on my congratulations.”

 

The words hit me with the force of a swift punch to the gut, leaving me raw and reeling. Heat rises from my chest into my face, and I can already feel my eyes starting to sting. But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing a single tear, so I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my eyes from watering.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Take it easy—there’s no need to act so wounded.”

 

“Right. Because it’s not like you said anything remotely offensive by implying that I…”

 

“That you… what?”

 

I cross my arms and tear my gaze away. When I don’t answer, he leans forward to reach for the glass, draining what’s left of his drink. He’s staring at me, I can feel it. Studying me. Watching my non-reaction.

 

“You seem to have this crazy idea that you don’t deserve him.”

 

“And whose fault is that, I wonder.”

 

I take a piece of bread from the plate, absently picking at the raisins in the dough and rolling them between my thumb and forefinger. Anything to have an excuse not to look him in the eye. I’m sure this doesn’t escape his attention, but for once, he shows enough decency not to make mention of it.

 

“You stopped owing him a long time ago, Katniss.”

 

I shake my head and bite my cheek even harder. Quietly, I say, “I still have so much I need to make up for.”

 

“No. No, you don’t.” He sighs. “Look, you and me—we’ve always been straight with each other, right? I’ve never pulled any punches with you and I’m not going to start now. So believe me when I tell you this: I’ve seen you go to hell and back for each other. _Both_ of you. I know how much you love that boy. And he knows it, too.”

 

His hand closes over mine, and it’s this that makes me finally look up to meet his eyes again.

 

“I came here for another reason,” I say. “I… need to ask you something.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Will you… give me away?”

 

The fog in his eyes dissipates. The hand that was holding the empty glass lets go of it, pushes it away, so that it’s at the center at the table, out of his reach.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

I grin. “Why else would I ask?”

 

He’s quiet for a few moments. Then he says, “You’re not going to let Effie run the whole show, are you?”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

He lets out another sigh. “I swear, If she makes me wear one of those God-awful suits from the Capitol, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

 

And then he smiles.

 

“Duly noted.”

 

As I get up to head for the door, he says, “Hey, Katniss…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m happy for you guys. I am. You both deserve this.”

 

I nod, then I do something completely out of character. I pull him into an embrace.

 

 

III.

 

The ground is still damp from last night’s rain. It’s soft and spongy as I walk across it, the dewy scent of water-soaked earth potent in each intake of air I breathe in. There’s leftover mist all around me, tiny droplets like microscopic tears from the heavens. I brush away the beads gathering on the leather of my hunting jacket and can’t help but think how appropriate this weather seems, as my eyes spot the dots of delicate lilac in the distance—one of the few primrose bushes that Peeta had left intact all those many months ago.

 

The small half-moon of rocks he placed around it is still there, as is the plaque that sits at the base of the center stone, untouched by human hands or the elements. I’m not even aware of walking towards it and falling to my knees, until I notice that the distance has shrunk between me and the delicate flowers, and I feel the moisture of the ground seeping through the thin material of my pants.

 

I reach forward to touch the plaque, running my fingers over the words that Peeta  painted, and the dull ache in my heart—the one that’s always with me, even in those moments of inexplicable joy—swells into a pain that threatens to crush my ribcage.

 

 

_Primrose Everdeen_

_Beloved daughter, sister, and friend_

 

 

“Hey, little duck. Got something to tell you.”

 

I shift back to sitting, drawing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. In my mind’s eye, I picture her laying her head on my shoulder, playing with my braid, the way she used to when she was little. I can almost feel the gentle pressure of her hand, and I don’t really know how I’m able to hold back the tears, except that I want her to see how happy I am about this news. I want her to see that I’m happy.

 

“Guess what? I’m getting married. For real, this time. No cameras, no photo shoots, no pretend dresses.”

 

I reach over to finger one of the buds. It hasn’t blossomed yet—but then, none of them have; we’re still weeks away from spring, though the skies are already starting to clear.

 

“Peeta came back to me,” I say, forcing the lump in my throat downwards. “You were right. You were right about the real him still being inside. Fighting to get out.”

 

I’m scared to take a breath now. Because I know one shaky inhale is all it will take to break the dam.

 

“I just… I just wanted you to know that you were right. You were right about so many things…”

 

I shift back onto my knees and bend down to place my lips on the plaque, right on her name, then get to my feet and walk away before the tears come.

 

 

IV.

 

Dust swirls around me. I’m shielding my eyes, but it gets inside them anyway, making them water. Peeta spots me approaching and waves at me, coming out to meet me halfway and taking my hand to lead me to the construction site.

 

“I thought we were meeting at the house for dinner?” he says, giving me a kiss.

 

“I wanted to surprise you, see how this is all coming along.”

 

He smiles and gives my hand a tug. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

 

The bones of the new bakery are finally in place: the metal frame and drywall, and the beginnings of a roof. It looks smaller than the old Mellark bakery and is situated all the way on the opposite side of the town square; when all is said and done, Peeta will have made this all his own.

 

“I started to paint the sign, want to see?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He leads me past scaffolding and we dodge paint and nails and clouds of sawdust until we get to the site where his kitchen will be. There’s a brand new oven that’s still encased in plastic, stainless steel gleaming where it’s catching the light, and I turn my head to see a flat board about a foot tall and three feet wide. It’s had one coat of paint already, a pale Robin’s egg blue that vaguely reminds me the color of his eyes.

 

“It needs a few more coats before I can stencil the letters on it,” he’s explaining, touching his fingers to it gingerly, as though to see whether it’s still wet. “I thought we’d bolt a rod just above the door and hang the sign off it, instead of just painting the name on the side of the building-” He looks down at me. “Sorry, this is probably boring you to tears.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“It’s ok, I won’t be offended.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t need to hear every detail,” I say, smiling. “But I love seeing you get so excited about this all.”

 

“High-level updates. Got it.”

 

He bends down to kiss me, taking my face in his hands. Somewhere nearby, there’s a low whistle, and I feel Peeta’s face grow warm beneath my palms. When we break apart, the blush has spread to his ears and he smiles sheepishly as one of the construction workers gives him a nod of approval.

 

“Don’t stop on our account,” the construction worker says. He reaches up to touch the brim of his cap and tip it ever so slightly. “And this has to be your fiancée, of course.”

 

“That’s me.”

 

Peeta’s cheeks turn even redder and he leans into me, then says, “I told them we just got engaged.”

 

“I see that.”

 

“That’s all right, isn’t it? I mean… I know we hadn’t really talked about when we would start telling people, but… I figured we weren’t trying to keep it quiet, either.”

 

I reach up on my toes to kiss him. “It’s fine. Actually, I’ve started sharing the news myself.”

 

He smiles. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So I guess it’s official now.”

 

“Too late to back out,” I tease, then I nudge him with my shoulder. “Hey… lean in, I want to tell you something.”

 

“What?”

 

“Remember, we’re engaged now, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you want.”

 

He laughs into my mouth, drawing another chorus of whistles.

 


End file.
